


Poison Perfect

by meetmeatthecoda



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Hurt, Romance, also red's cat makes an appearance, but hopefully also love and feelings, near the end anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-20 22:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11344752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meetmeatthecoda/pseuds/meetmeatthecoda
Summary: Three-part fic based on a tumblr prompt about the aftermath of Red's poisoning in 4x15. Liz and Red get that scene they never had, plus more, including Liz caring for Red, lung damage, and feelings! Huzzah! Lizzington all the way.





	1. Chapter 1

Heart pounding, legs pumping, feet pushing, Liz is running. 

She is running down a sidewalk in Bethesda because Red called, Red called her. Red, who up and disappeared from his makeshift mobile hospital after being given the antidote to the poison without so much as talking to her first, called her. He's called her and he's in his apartment and he wants to see her. And Liz figures that's good because, boy, does she have some words for him. He was just poisoned not 72 hours ago and she was fighting to save him and as soon as he’s cured he just up and disappears? No. No, that will not do. 

So she's running towards Red's apartment building to yell at him for not being poisoned to death and she parked eight blocks away because she didn't have enough patience to find anything closer because she wanted to feel like she was actually making progress, actually getting closer to him because he very nearly died and yeah, maybe she's a little desperate.

She sees the building now and thank god because it's been a hell of a day and her feet are starting to hurt but somehow she doesn't want to stop running.

Getting closer, she thinks maybe she should slow down, she's going to crash right into the door at this rate but for some reason the thought of that doesn't seem to bother her too much and maybe a good crash is what she needs to see straight because Red almost died, _again_ \-- 

But no. He's right in there and he'd be upset to see her all banged up so she slows just enough to not crash and instead yanks the door open hard enough to slam it into the opposite wall with a bang and shit well at least it was the door and not her and where are the stairs?

She doesn't have nearly enough patience to ride the elevator to the third floor when she can keep moving, keep air moving in and out of her lungs, keep her legs working, towards Red who is just upstairs.

She races up the stairs, nearly tripping about halfway up and, no, face planting into solid cement stairs would be worse than crashing into a door so maybe she should slow down.

But there, a door with a number three on it, thank god, almost there, and she's shoving the door open, flying out of the endless stairwell, barely sparing a thought to anyone who might be on the other side because Red was poisoned for god's sake and, oh, there's his door.

She skids to a stop in front of his apartment but somehow feels as if she's still moving, isn't that odd, how far did she run? But who cares, Red is on the other side of this door, so she knocks and just keeps knocking and wow that’s rude and she hates it when people do that but her hand won't stop knocking and why is that?

And then the door is being wrenched open and there is Red, pale, drawn, exhausted, but there, smiling tiredly at her and oh Red.

And before she knows it, she's throwing her arms around him without any regard to his current physical state and he’s warm and good smelling and right there and she feels herself slowing down, her brain catching up with her body, or maybe her body is catching up with her brain, who knows, but it feels better.

(And perhaps the sight of Red, strangely small and quiet, pale and weak, so unlike his usual magnetic and boisterous self, sitting on the stairs in the Post Office because he was too tired to stand and talk at the same time scared her more than she first realized.

She almost lost him.)

But no more of that, he is here and she is here and the world feels right again.

Liz breaths in deeply and lets it out slowly. 

Ah. 

But then she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings again -- how long had she been stuck inside her own head like that? -- and she realizes Red, though his arms are wrapped loosely around her waist, is horribly tense in her arms, and his breathing is shallow, and -- she pulls back with a jerk -- he is wincing and oh no.

"Oh, Red, I'm so sorry, I didn't even think, are you alright? Let's get you inside, god, I'm such an idiot, you must feel awful, I'm sorry --"

And she is ushering Red inside his own apartment like an overbearing mother hen, suddenly unable to stop talking even though her voice is strangely high-pitched and she's out of breath from all that running and she's unintentionally talking right over him every time he tries to open his mouth and why can't she stop talking?

" -- and you can't just go answering the door in your state, you're probably still weak and where's your antidote, do you have to keep taking that, I didn't get a chance to talk to the doctor, how -- "

"Lizzie!"

And he finally manages to interrupt her but it’s not the volume or power of his interjection that startles her into silence, it's the lack thereof. His voice is so frail and quiet that she can't believe it's really his and she only stops talking to make sure because she saw his lips move, didn't she?

"Lizzie, please. I'm fine. A little tired but nothing a good night's sleep won't fix. Alright?" His voice scratches awfully on the last word, contradicting his claim completely.

"Um, alright," she says, her brow furrowing, feeling a little knocked off her feet by his downplaying being _poisoned_ , "I just, uh, are you sure? I mean, you disappeared before any of us could come see you and we weren't sure -- "

"Yes, Lizzie, I'm sure. I may be under the weather for a few days but it’s nothing serious. In fact, that’s why I asked you to come by, I wanted to update you on the situation so you could relay things to the taskforce in my stead. My team and I will be -- "

"Wait, that's it?" She can't help but interrupt him because is this really happening?

"I'm sorry?" He inquires, unfailingly polite even as he moves away from her and sits down rather heavily on the couch, letting out a puff of air that’s almost a groan because he was just _fucking poisoned_.

"We're not going to talk about the fact that you just barely survived the last 48 hours?"

"Well, I'm not sure why we would. It’s not the first time it’s happened and, after all, everything turned out fine." He shrugs carelessly. 

She stares.

"Everything turned out fine? _Fine?_ " Her voice sounds a little screechy now but she can't find it in herself to care because is he serious? "You vanished from a mobile hospital four seconds after being cured of a deadly poison without so much as saying hey because everything is fine?" Wow, that sounds even more ridiculous when she says it out loud.

"Why do I have to talk to you first? You're not my mother."

The childish remark hits her like a slap in the face. She blinks and turns away from him, starting to pace around the living room.

"Well, excuse me for caring about what happens to you after you've been poisoned!" She snaps, her voice starting soft and quickly growing into something louder and more like hurt.

"Oh, you care about what happens to me? That's new." He mumbles, his hoarse voice cracking a little at the end.

She stares at him, her mouth hanging open. Red rises slowly from the couch, apparently feeling the same need as Liz to get up and move around, despite his obvious fatigue. He walks to the kitchen, head bowed, seemingly gearing up to say something.

Finally, he lets it all out in one short breath, talking faster than he usually does, not looking at her. "Tell me, Lizzie, how is what I did any worse than what you did to get to Cuba?"

Liz almost collapses on the carpeted floor. 

"Seriously? You're going to bring that up right now?" She can't believe this.

"Well, when else should I bring it up, now seems like the perfect time -- "

" -- and maybe it’s fitting but why can't we focus on thing at a time and -- "

" -- the hypocrisy permeating the room is just sickening and how -- "

" -- but you really think you’re so god damn perfect -- "

And their voices start to overlap, neither listening to the other, weeks of tension and anger and bitterness spilling out of their mouths and into the room but suddenly Liz realizes that her voice is getting louder as she hurls accusations and insults but Red's is getting softer by the same amount and that's strange, why -- 

But he can't get words out now and her own fizzle on the way from her brain to her mouth because what's wrong --

And he's starting to struggle for air and he's grasping the counter and he's losing all color in his face and oh no --

Liz knows an asthma attack when she sees one -- Sam had many after he quit smoking -- but Red isn't normally asthmatic so he doesn't have an inhaler does he but he can't breathe and what is she supposed to do now --

She barely makes it to the kitchen in time to save him from a nasty collision with the linoleum as he tumbles to the floor, wheezing horribly and oh no, what --

Oh Red.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh Red. 

Here they are, collapsed on the kitchen floor of Red’s Bethesda apartment and Red can’t breathe. Liz had known that the poison had effected his lungs to some extent but she had no idea it was this bad. As far as she knows, Red is not normally asthmatic so he doesn’t have an inhaler, does he? If he did, she certainly would have seen him carrying it on his person at some point, wouldn’t she?

No. No, she probably wouldn’t have. Red is layers upon layers of shadow and indifference, never carrying anything indicative of his real self. Anything he absolutely needs on the go, like guns or cell phones, Dembe carries. Anything that means anything to him is carefully hidden away for safe keeping in apartments like the one she is in right now.

With Red gasping for air in her arms. 

Oh, where is Dembe when they need him?

Red writhes on the floor, wheezing, a horrible rattling sound echoing in his chest.

Okay, okay. Sam suffered from asthma as a result of his smoking. There must have been at least one instance Liz was present when an attack started and Sam didn’t have his inhaler. 

Or it was empty. And suddenly, she remembers. 

When Liz was a teen, Sam had taken her to the movies to see some popular chick flick she had been bugging him about. He had humored her and taken her to a late showing on a school night as a reward for her recent good grades. The parking lot was crowded when they arrived in the early evening and they had to park far away from the doors. But on the way out, the parking lot was deserted and they had had to walk a long way through the dark to find their car. Sam had started to gasp a little but he insisted he was fine. Until he dropped to his knees on the asphalt. Liz had panicked and rifled through his jacket pockets until she found his inhaler while he gasped on the ground but it was empty. So she had squatted on the cold ground in the middle of a deserted parking lot and talked her father through breathing until his lungs let him.

And now she has to do the same with Red.

Okay.

The first step is to get Red into an upright position. Laying as he is, half on the linoleum and half in her arms, this is no easy feat. She pulls and tugs at his arms and clothes while he involuntary struggles against her, panicking. After a minute or two of effort, she is sitting behind him on the floor, his back propped up against her front, with one arm looped around his waist and the other stretched out against his arm to grasp his hand. 

Oh, how did that happen? He may be struggling against her hold but he is squeezing her hand and she takes that to mean that he trusts her to get him through this.

“Okay, Red, you gotta breathe. I’m gonna help you, okay?”

The only response she gets is another awful rattling wheeze.

“Okay, sounds good,” she murmurs, running her thumb over his fingers tenderly. “All right, it’s time to breathe in, Red, try and breathe with me, feel my chest move.”

And she begins to breath in slowly, counting out loud as she does so, watching as the motion of her lungs raises Red up off her chest a few inches. He tries to do it with her but breathes in much too sharply in his panic and that starts him coughing again. 

“That’s okay, Red, that’s okay,” she soothes, patting his side where her hand rests. “Let’s try again, okay? In. One, two, three…”

And she keeps counting and breathing and Red keeps wheezing and rattling and Liz keeps her voice quiet and low and as soothing as she can until suddenly there’s more breathing than gasping and Red is relaxing in her arms. 

“That’s it, Red, there you go,” she whispers to him, resting her chin gently on his shoulder and placing her head next to his, without entirely realizing she’s doing it. 

And soon things are mostly quiet again, with an occasional weak cough punctuating the silence, Red laying slumped against her front on his kitchen floor, exhausted, while she cradles him, rocking a little, and humming quietly, eyes closed, relieved to feel him breathing easily again.

And Liz, sitting there with Red, is suddenly aware of a truth. It doesn’t come with a bang or a shock, like some epiphanies do. It just whispered into existence sometime when she was helping Red get air into his lungs. Or maybe it was always there, waiting for her to acknowledge it. She doesn’t know. All she knows is that she is at peace here, with Red, helping him, holding him. And it is a peace she has never known with anyone else, not Nick, and certainly not Tom. Only Sam and Agnes. Love, she thinks, a bit dreamily. Is that what this is?

Her idle wonderment is gently interrupted by the man of her musings gently squeezing her hand and stirring against her.

“Lizzie…”

And his voice is so much worse than before, almost gone now, and it hurts her so much, she wishes more than anything she could make it better but he’s trying to tell her something.

“Thank you, Lizzie, thank you…” he’s whispering to her and what was she supposed to do? Let him suffocate and choke right in front of her? Of course not, She loves h—

Oh, well, all right. What a day of quiet, polite, earth-shattering, life-altering realizations.

But she can’t dwell on that right now. 

“Of course, Red, don’t be silly.” She murmurs gently, trying to brush off all the overwhelming emotions. Now is not the time to get swept away. “Look, I now you’re exhausted and, frankly, so am I, it’s been a hell of a day.”

She feels his chest stutter and she almost starts to count again before she realizes he’s chuckling at her. Oh. Well, that’s good.

“Oh, that’s funny, is it?” she asks, grinning, probably a little madly. “Well, in a morbid kind of way, I guess it is. So how about we move this to the bedroom, mister, and we both get some sleep?”

He stops laughing abruptly. Well, that got his attention.

“Staying?” he manages to get out.

“Well, yeah, I think it would be best, Red, don’t you?” she says gently. “Dembe isn’t here – “ She tries to ignore the way he stiffens in her arms “ – and I’m not leaving you here alone tonight. What if you have another attack? I don’t want to leave you.”

(And oh, those last words were maybe some of that tidal wave of emotion forcing their way through her wall of denial and into her words and she certainly didn’t mean for that to happen.)

But she can practically feel the unease radiating off Red but she is not changing her mind because the thought of him here, alone, gasping, nearly sends her into her own panic attack and gee, aren’t they a pair?

“Too bad, Red,” she sing-songs quietly, feeling just loopy enough to tease him. “You’re not getting rid of me tonight. So you’ll just have to deal with it.” She pats his side sympathetically. 

He gives the deepest sigh he can manage and, though she can’t see his face, she’s pretty sure she can feel his eyes rolling. She can’t help but laugh a little against him. 

The poor little invalid. 

He is trying to speak again though, coughing a little as he does so.

“Red, please don’t talk, you’ll just – “

“Agnes?” 

Oh. Oh, he is worried about her baby girl and honestly so is she because Liz misses her every minute she’s not with her but she is at home with Tom and if Liz is sure of one thing, it’s that Tom will never hurt their child. 

And if she’s sure of another thing, it’s that Red needs her here tonight.

“Tom is with her and I’ll miss her but I’ll see her tomorrow.”

Red is trying to protest, struggling in her arms again, and she wonders if that’s because Tom is with Agnes or because Liz isn’t but she figures it doesn’t really matter right now.

“Red, stop, it’s alright. I’ll text him and let him know I’ll see them both in the morning. She’s probably already asleep by now anyway. Even if I went home right now, the next time she’d see me is still when she wakes up in the morning.”

Red seems to reluctantly see the sense in this and gives up his pointless struggle. Liz grins in triumph. 

“All right, now that that’s settled, it’s bed time, don’t you think?” she tries to say this lightly and without a care, as if the thought of getting into bed with Red doesn’t fill her stomach with some strange species of butterfly. 

She tries.

The process of extricating herself from underneath Red, getting up off the kitchen floor, and then getting a weak and exhausted Red up as well demands quite a lot of patience and coordination but they somehow manage it without any additional harm to either of them. 

“Okay, great.” Liz sighs, making sure Red is safely propped against the kitchen counter before stepping away and pushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face. “Bedroom.”

She takes Red’s arm, ignoring his quiet huff and disapproving look, and guides him slowly towards the back hallway where she remembers his bedroom is the second door on the right. 

She knows where Red’s bedroom is, what a strange thought.

Liz finally gets Red to the bed, where he sits down heavily, looking paler than ever from the short walk. She frowns, worried. But her next task is to get him ready for bed and she wishes those stupid butterflies would just curl up and die inside her because she doesn’t have enough energy for this tonight. Pushing them aside as best she can, she reaches silently for the buttons on his vest, intending to at least get him down to his white button-down and slacks to let him sleep most comfortably, but he jerks away from her touch, frowning and uncertain.

Well, that hurt.

“Red, do you want to sleep in a full three-piece suit, sans jacket?” she asks sardonically, raises her eyebrows, trying to hide her hurt.

He looks down at the floor, sufficiently chastised, but raises his own hands to his vest instead, still not wanting her help. She frowns at him and crosses her arms, ignoring the tears clogging her throat because this is not the time nor place for them. 

Liz watches as Red quickly and efficiently removes his tie, vest, and belt, placing them neatly folded on the bed beside him. He then attempts to lean over to untie his shoes but he only makes it about halfway before he winces in pain and sits up, his hand going to his chest. Of course, his lungs and ribs are probably aching from the exertion of his asthma attack.

“It’s okay, Red, I can do that.” She says, but she cuts her eyes at him and waits. “Can’t I?” She raises her eyebrow at him.

He rolls his eyes a little and nods unhappily. She snorts, mumbling something about a ‘typical male’ while she drops to her knees in front of him. She makes quick work of his shoes and pushes them aside next to his bedside table so he won’t trip over them if he tries to get up. 

“Can you sleep like that? Is there anything else you need?” Liz feels a little like that overbearing mother hen again but she doesn’t really care because she thinks that maybe Red deserves a little mothering after the day he’s had. 

The man in question blinks sleepily at her and shakes his head. 

“Okay, then. Lay down. I’ll be right there.”

She ignores his suddenly more alert eyes and now open mouth and instead scoops up his neat pile of discarded clothing and places it on the dresser. 

“Lizzie, what – “ he asks hoarsely but she waves him off.

“Just lay down, Red.”

After a moment, he relents, evidently too tired to argue, and slowly shifts down the bed until his head reaches the pillow, closing his eyes with something like relief. She stands watching him do this until she realizes how creepy that probably is and decides she should get ready for bed herself. She takes a breath and pulls herself together.

“Be right back, Red.” She murmurs, just in case he is still awake.

She wanders out into the living room, checking the locks on the door and shutting off the lights, feeling strangely domestic and comfortable. She is about to head back to the bedroom when she is startled by something winding around her feet and purring. Red’s cat. She nearly forgot about him. He must have been sleeping all through Red’s episode. Lucky little fellow. 

Liz bends down to pet the furry thing and hears it purr louder in response. 

“Hey, kitty,” she whispers absentmindedly, lamenting that she still doesn’t know the cat’s name. “I bet you’re hungry, huh? Let’s check your food bowl.”

Liz goes to the kitchen and the cat follows her, excited. Liz looks around and sees the cat’s bowl on the floor on the far side of the small island that she and Red had spent their evening next to. The bowl looks mostly empty so Liz hunts around the kitchen for a few minutes, peeking into cabinets, trying not to snoop, until she finds small cans of cat food in a bottom cupboard. Liz quickly empties a can into the bowl and gives the cat, who is happily chowing down, a final pet before shutting off the last light and heading back to the bedroom. 

Red is right where she left him, struggling to keep his eyes open. What an endearing sight. 

Is he trying to wait for her? Oh, how sweet.

And suddenly Liz has no qualms about rounding the bed and shedding her jacket, placing it on a chair tucked in the corner, and toeing off her boots to tuck them under the chair. Remembering her promise to Red, Liz quickly takes out her phone and sends a quick text to Tom, telling him she won’t be home tonight and to please give Agnes a kiss for her. She ignores the almost immediate response that starts with her name and trails off into some ominous warning about their relationship. She doesn’t need any more drama tonight. She sets her phone on the bedside table on her side of the bed -- oh, does she have a side of the bed with Red? Oh, she needs to sleep – and climbs as gently as she can onto the bed behind Red.

He stirs lightly and makes to turn towards her but she places a hand on his arm and shushes him.

“It’s okay, Red. Just sleep, honey, I’ll be here.” She whispers and she doesn’t realize until it’s too late that she added an endearment into that statement, didn’t she? An endearment she usually calls Tom, no less. But she felt such a surge of warmth just now, all the way down to her toes, when she said it to Red that she has never felt with Tom, she is sure of it.

Well then.

But it is too late for feelings like this and Liz’s eyes are drooping already and Red has fallen asleep on top of the covers but she won’t bother waking him to get under so, on a sleepy whim, she moves forward until her front is pressed against Red’s back again, and she places an arm over his waist, cuddling up to his warmth. 

Well, look at that. It occurs to her, in what must be her hundredth realization of the night, that she is spooning Red. And she is the big spoon, too. Tom is usually the big spoon when they sleep but this, here with Red, is strangely pleasant and she thinks she likes feeling tucked up and hidden behind his larger form while holding him in her arms. 

As Liz’s eyes slip closed, that same feeling of peace steals over her that she felt on the kitchen floor and her last sleepy thought is that maybe, next time, Red can be the big spoon.

She thinks she’d love that.


	3. Chapter 3

Liz gets her wish.

As she slowly enters wakefulness, feeling more rested than she has in months, she is instantly aware of a warm, solid, comforting presence at her back and a strong, firm, protective arm around her waist. 

Red is spooning her.

Oh my. 

His legs are even tucked up behind hers, snug and warm, and she can feel his nose buried in her hair, his exhales gently tickling the back of her neck.

Liz hasn’t even started her day yet and she’s already learned something: Red is a cuddler.

She also notices that a worn quilt has been draped over them both. Red must have woken up cold at some point in the middle of the night and gotten it for them, as opposed to waking her to get under the covers. How sweet.

Right now, snuggled up with Red in bed, Liz can only wonder one thing: has she ever been this comfortable and content?

Her phone dings, Tom’s name lighting up the screen briefly. 

No. No, she hasn’t. 

Liz blinks and reaches up to rub her eyes. She should check her phone. Tom could have a question about Agnes. What time is it anyway? She squints at the digital clock on the bedside table next to her phone. 

9:36am.

Liz’s eyebrows raise. She hasn’t slept that long in quite a while, with no alarm waking her for work and no baby waking her for food. She supposes she should feel guilty about leaving the team to their own devices at the Post Office and Tom on his own with Agnes but she can’t help but think she deserves a little bit of a break.

Perhaps not in the bed of another man, but alas. 

The man in question stirs gently behind her, snuffling and burrowing even further into her warmth. 

Oh, Red. 

She feels that surge of affection, that special warm feeling that she felt last night. Liz had half hoped that that feeling was simply a product of her exhaustion and would perhaps be gone by morning. That would certainly make things easier, less complicated. But it’s still here and she can’t help but be secretly relieved. But, oh, what kind of a person does that make her?

Liz sighs. It’s too early in the morning for these things.

So she shakes off the confusing thoughts for the time being and reaches a hand out to try and retrieve her phone. Her fingertips can just touch the edge of the nightstand without leaving Red’s arms. And she’d rather not leave just yet. She continues to stretch her fingers, reaching, but only manages to knock her phone a little further out of reach. She lets out a frustrated little huff, her head dropping back to the pillow. With a fortifying breath, she makes one last try for her phone, slipping too far out of Red’s arms as her hand finally closes around the device, and he jerks awake.

“I’m sorry, Red, I had to get my phone,” Liz whispers guiltily, trying to squirm back into his arms, patting his hand still on her waist.

Instead of relaxing back against her body, as Liz had hoped he would, Red remains tense behind her. 

Liz frowns. 

“Red?” she asks but Red clears his throat awkwardly and slowly unwraps his arm from around her waist, moving backwards away from her. 

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” Red says primly, “I must have been chilly during the night. I didn’t mean to crowd you.”

Liz suddenly feels awfully cold herself, despite the fact the Red left the quilt on her.

She blinks, troubled by his suddenly impersonal attitude. “Um, no, that’s okay, Red, I don’t mind – “

“No, I should have been more respectful of your personal space.”

The finality in his tone scares her and she quickly turns onto her other side to face him.

She is momentarily struck by him. His features first thing in the morning are certainly a sight: warm, tan, and sleepy. But his sudden aloofness pinches his features unpleasantly, closing off his normally expressive face to her searching gaze. 

“Red, what’s wrong?” Liz murmurs, worried.

“Nothing, Lizzie, why do you ask?” Red answers smoothly, coldly. “I imagine you’ll be wanting to get back to Tom and Agnes as soon as possible. Would you like some breakfast before you leave?”

Liz’s mouth gapes, hurt coursing through her. Things had been so wonderful when she woke up but now Red is practically kicking her out of his apartment. What had changed? Red had awoken, obviously. Did he feel her in his arms and remember last night’s events? Last night was traumatic, to be sure, for both of them. But why would that make Red pull away so quickly? They’d been through their share of trauma, the two of them. But Red hardly ever let himself be that exposed in front of her, did he? So was he perhaps embarrassed or self-conscious about the fact that she witnessed his attack last night? Oh, Red.

That must be it.

“Red,” Liz dives right in, “there’s no need to be embarrassed about last night. You can’t help how your body reacted to the poison. I’m just so glad you weren’t alone and I was here to help you. And it was no trouble to stay with you overnight. Are you feeling better this morning? We slept a long while, I hope you’re feeling more rested. And your voice sounds a lot better today. I mean, it’s still a little scratchy but some hot tea with honey should help, don’t you think? I don’t – “

Liz knows she’s babbling but Red’s blank expression is making her panic.

“I’m feeling much better, Elizabeth, thank you.” He cuts her off easily. “And I’m very appreciative of all that you did for me last night. I’m…” he trails off, working his mouth a little. “… not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.” He looks into her eyes for a moment and then seems to check himself, blinking and looking away. “Like I said, I just needed a good night’s sleep.” He finishes nonchalantly.

Liz frowns, looking intently at him, despite his shifting eyes and obvious unease.

“Well, if you’re not embarrassed, Red, then what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me.”

“Oh please,” snaps Liz, starting to lose a little patience, “five minutes ago, you were the cutest cuddle bug ever and now you can’t stand to look at me.” The muscle under his eye twitches. “What is it?”

Red turns away, down towards the end of the bed, fiddling anxiously with the edge of the quilt. “I was just wondering…” he trails off again, uncharacteristically uncertain of his own words, “… if we will be continuing the discussion we were having last night before I became… indisposed.”

“Discussion?” Liz repeats, a little incredulously. “You mean our argument?”

Red shrugs as best as he can laying horizontally facing her on a bed. “You really want to quibble over terms, Lizzie?”

Liz purses her lips, trying to ignore the fluttering feeling that starts in her chest when Red calls her ‘Lizzie’. 

“All right, then.” Liz sighs. She doesn’t particularly want to have this conversation ten minutes after waking up but she supposes Red is right to bring it up again. This has been a long time coming. Now she just has to figure out what to say. “Red, I… You mentioned Cuba last night and… Well, you were right about that, I was being a hypocrite. I just didn’t want to accept it last night because… well, I was angry and you had just been poisoned, for God’s sake!”

“Yes, I noticed, Lizzie,” says Red drily. “You were rather distraught about it last night, and I must say, I was a little surprised. May I ask why?”

Liz blinks. “Are you serious? You’re asking why I care if you live or die?”

Red looks at her evenly. “Yes.”

Oh.

And it’s like a switch has been flipped. All of a sudden, Liz understands what Red is asking her. He wants to hear that she cares. In words. From her own lips. That shouldn’t surprise her, really. People like to hear that other people care. And when was the last time someone told Red something like that? 

By all accounts, Liz is the only one Red cares about anymore. And when she faked her death and escaped to Cuba? God, what kind of message did that send him? She hadn’t meant to break his heart. But thinking about all the times he has looked at her since she came back, all the hurt and anger and betrayal in his eyes, she has done a damn fine job of it.

Oh, Red.

“Red…” she murmurs. “Red, I do care about you. I’ve told you this before.” She thinks briefly of dark cars and beaded gowns, whispered declarations in the night. “Despite everything that’s occurred between us, or maybe because of everything, I just can’t seem to let you go. No matter what happens, something just pulls me back to you. I’m not sure if I believe in fate or anything…” She looks down at the mattress, starting to get a little self-conscious, talking about her own beliefs, have they ever talked like this? “I believe in things I can touch and feel.” Swallowing her nerves, she reaches out and touches his hand, laying inches from hers on the mattress. It feels like a mile. “And last night, or maybe always, I don’t know, I felt…” she trails off, unsure of how to proceed, suddenly scared of these words she’s putting out into the air between them.

“Yes?” Red prompts quietly.

Liz looks up at him.

Oh. 

Red is staring right at her, his eyes suspiciously bright, and he slowly turns his hand over to hold hers gently, lightly. Red is looking at her, looking at her like she’s casting magic spells, enchanting him. This is what he wants to hear, these words, the truth, the things she’s never thought to say out loud before. The things she always thought were self-evident or too private to share. She and Tom never talked about feelings or emotions like this. Not inches away from each other in bed, staring into each other’s eyes, completely honest and open. 

(Liz thinks maybe she should stop comparing Red and Tom. It’s obvious that they cannot be more different and, even though she once thought Tom was perfect in every way, she can now see so clearly that it’s Red, Red who is the one for her.)

He squeezes her hand gently, still waiting patiently for her to finish.

Red.

She suddenly knows what to say. She has never been more certain of anything because it’s what she feels, there is no doubt in her body. And if she feels it, why shouldn’t she say it?

“I love you.”

And Red’s mouth opens, just enough to take in a tiny gasp, and no one has ever looked at her like that in response to those words, like she just handed them everything they’ve ever wanted. Is that how Red feels? Is she everything he’s ever wanted? She’s sees that truth in his eyes, truly wet now, staring at her. And all that coldness and hardness that had solidified there since Cuba is melting away before her and is that what makes his tears? She doesn’t know but she’s getting teary eyed too and she’s crying all too often these days but these tears feel different. Happy. And she doesn’t mind them so much.

And then Red takes the hand he’s been holding and slowly brings it up to his lips and places the gentlest, softest, most reverent kiss she’s ever been given onto the back of it, looking up at her as he does so, his eyes somehow reflecting the feeling of it. 

“I love you, too, Lizzie.”

And she’s leaning forward now slowly but purposefully because how else do you follow a two-sided declaration and an old-fashioned hand-kiss like that? Well, she’ll do it the only way she knows how.

Red’s eyebrows raise a little as she gets closer but she also sees his eyes darken and, oh yes, this is the right thing to do. Unexpected but right. And when has their relationship been anything else?

And Red is leaning in to meet her and Liz’s eyes slip closed right as his warm, soft lips touch hers, as gentle as everything else he has done since she opened her mouth and changed everything.

And then, as their lips move ever so softly against each other, Red gives the sweetest little sigh against her mouth, and it just sounds like contentment and Liz feels that sudden surge of affection – no, love – for him, stronger than ever, and she tries to put that into their kiss, wants desperately to share that feeling with him.

So she puts a hand on his cheek, slightly rough with morning stubble, and slants her mouth against his as much as she can while laying horizontally on her side, enjoying the slide of his mouth against hers. And Red breaths in sharply through his nose, as surprised as she is by her sudden boldness, and wastes no time in reciprocating. 

Liz doesn’t know how long they kiss like this, it could be hours or minutes, but it doesn’t matter to her. Red, as she always suspected, is an excellent kisser, and she could happily lay here kissing him for days. But eventually he slows things down, expertly taking her along for the ride, an oh-so-willing passenger and before she knows it, he is pressing a few last soft kisses to her mouth, jaw, cheek. She lays there for a few moments more, enjoying his warmth and the new intimacy filling the air around them. She sighs, opening her eyes slowly, already smiling, and is met with his jade eyes staring back at her, crinkled around the edges from his own smile. 

Liz notices that, while they were kissing, they moved closer together, eliminating that pointless inch or two of space in between them. They are now pressed together, socked feet brushing, legs tangling, chests pressing together, and arms around backs with hands cradling faces. 

How natural this feels. How unlike anything Liz has ever experienced. 

How happy she is. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that, Lizzie.” His words, spoken in a voice deep and smooth like honey, seems to meld into the silence of the room, not interrupting in any way, just joining them there. 

Liz feels another surge of love for him. Will that feeling ever get old? God, she hopes not.

“And was it everything you hoped it would be?” She whispers back, teasing lightly, the corner of her mouth twitching. 

Red, however, doesn’t smile back. His eyes become intense again and his hand runs through a lock of her hair, pushing it behind her ear, watching his own hand do this as if it doesn’t belong to him, completely in wonder.

“Yes,” he answers her quietly, “and so much more.”

Oh, Red.

Liz feels tears return to her eyes, definitely the happy, crazy-in-love kind this time, and she scooches forward as much as she physically can and tucks her head underneath his chin. He hums – she can feel that in his chest, pressed as she is, oh my – and he wraps his arms around her back, holding her tightly. 

Jesus, has anyone ever held her like this before?

Well it doesn’t matter because Red is now.

Red.

They lay like this for another indeterminate amount of time, just happy, snuggling and dozing lightly together. That is, until Red’s cat jumps on the bed and clambers on top of them, meowing his displeasure at being forgotten and unfed. They laugh, disentangle somewhat, and Red scratches behind the kitty’s ears. 

“All right, Fluffy, we’re getting up.”

Liz sits bolt upright. “Fluffy? That’s his name?”

Red looks confused. “Yes. Why?”

Liz can’t help but laugh. “I don’t know. I just assumed Raymond Reddington’s cat would have a more sophisticated name.”

Red sits up too, bristling slightly, pulling Fluffy into his arms protectively. “Like what, if I may ask?”

Liz giggles again. “I don’t know. Something with a ‘Mister’ or a ‘Sir’. Sir Fluffy, at least, has a little dignity to it.” 

Red huffs, while the cat hops off his lap to trot out of the room, evidently bored with the conversation. “I think we have different definitions of the word ‘dignity’, Lizzie.” He says playfully, all pomp and circumstance. 

Liz laughs yet again. She’s laughing so much this morning. Red smiles at her, delighted with her giggling. 

But then her phone chimes again and effectively ruins the moment of pure, shining, sparkling happiness between them. 

Tom.

The smiles quickly fade as Lizzie scoops up the offending device, scrolling through her missed messages quickly. 

“Tom wants to know when I’ll be home.” She mutters, a little unnecessarily.

Red clears his throat awkwardly. “Lizzie, what are you intending to do about Tom? I…” He pauses here, some tentativeness coming back, “I won’t share, Lizzie.”

“Oh, god, Red, no!” Liz gasps, reaching to grab his arm. “No, of course not! I never… No.” she says firmly, realizing then that she had unconsciously made a decision about Tom some time over the course of this odd sleepover in Red’s apartment. Perhaps when they were kissing, that would make sense. Nevertheless, she is sure. 

“I will be ending things with Tom today.”

Red looks up, surprised. “Today?”

“Well, of course, Red. I know…” Now it’s her turn to be uncertain again. “I know we have issues. Things that need to be addressed. And this relationship, if that’s what we’re embarking on, will have its difficulties. Substantial ones. But I also know that this feels right. Maybe more right than anything. And I want to try this between us. And, if that’s what we’re going to do, I know that Tom no longer has a place in our lives.”

Red is staring at her again, like she said something he was not at all expecting. And she probably did. But even so, she suddenly wonders if she’s jumping to conclusions.

“That is, um, if that’s what you want, too.” She mumbles, looking away, afraid.

“Oh, Lizzie.” Red grabs both her hands to pull them onto his lap. “Oh, Lizzie, of course, don’t be ridiculous. I want this more than anything. I’m just… a little taken aback by your willingness to proceed with things so quickly.”

Liz, feeling a little relieved, shrugs, holding Red’s hands back. “I’ve made my decision, Red. And when I commit to something, I commit, you should know that about me by now. So, why would I want to wait? Besides, I think we’ve waited long enough, don’t you?” she smiles at him shyly. 

And Red beams, just beams at her. “Yes, I do believe so.” He says, pulling her into a hug. 

Liz closes her eyes, hugging him back for a long moment, letting that happiness flood her once again before she has to gear up for the difficult task of talking to Tom.

But Red is still thinking. 

“Um,” he starts, hesitancy coloring his tone once again, “Lizzie, do you think… What I mean is, would you want to bring Agnes here? I mean, after you’ve ended things with Tom, that is. I mean, it might be safest, if he gets a hot head, you know. He doesn’t know about this apartment so it might be best for Agnes. Only if you want to, I mean, I don’t – “

Oh, now Red is babbling, he is so nervous. But he has no reason to be, as far as Liz is concerned, because that sounds like a wonderful idea and she would love that so much and Agnes just adores Red, doesn’t she?

Like mother like daughter.

“Red.” she interrupts him.

“Yes?” he asks, relieved to be stopped.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea.” Liz smiles.

And Red laughs with pure joy because he gets to see her baby girl today and oh, Red.

He pecks her lightly on the lips and she can’t help but laugh with him.

And then Liz has the crazy thought that she is actually grateful that Red was poisoned. Almost. Because if he hadn’t been, they certainly wouldn’t be sitting on his bed in his Besthesda apartment making plans, having just admitted their love for one another.

What a difference one glass of scotch can make.

“Okay, so.” She begins, now playfully business-like, because why not? “I’ll go ditch Tom and pack up Agnes and meet you back here for lunch?”

“Does noon sound alright?”

“Perfect.”

(Then maybe at some point after that, after some much-needed rest and relaxation for the three of them, they can get to work with the task force and Red’s team to find Dembe and solve the mystery of Red’s poisoning. But only after they’ve gotten their feet under them after these stressful events. They need to be mentally and physically rested to do their best work. Some more sleeping and cuddling and kissing will definitely help, Liz is sure of it.)

Then they kiss again, because they do that now and they can’t really help it, they are drawn together like magnets, and then they spend another minute just smiling stupidly at one another. Liz looks at his beloved face and marvels over the fact that, even in this brand-new state of theirs, they seem to work together like a well-oiled machine. But she supposes she shouldn’t be surprised. 

They do make a great team, after all.


End file.
